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mark ryan

To err is human…

Forgiveness can be the most impossible. How many wrongs can twist inside a heart to make it a victim? How many grudges must we carry, pulling us down like gravity? A life led in ordinariness attracts its fair share of hurt and trauma. But to dwell in the oil, will only make the soul dark and heavy.

To forgive then, is what we must do. Here lie letters sent to those who can be forgiven, composed in all honesty. But it’s the forgetting which is the trickier part of healing. With a splattering of poetry to wash the wounds clean, these words hang like olive leaves on tough branches, soaked in blood from the scars that are still healing. Forgiving though, of course, makes us divine.

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extract - 'love like now'

The old village of Bordan was only a few houses really, claiming it’s village status over hamlet due to the post office which had long since shut its doors to the locals. The vast farms that sprawled over the surrounding countryside claimed the village as their location, though where the lines were drawn it was unknown. The old church stood, small and useless like the religion it offered, made purposeful only occasionally for christenings and weddings, the expectations of grown-up life. The church was positioned on the lip of the hill which plunged drastically down one side. Bordan did have medieval roots, but its design was a hodgepodge of ideas, all conflicting and fighting one another. Not much had changed.

The plunge down the west side of the church met the Irrevess river, which slowed and ran shallower here before emptying out into the ocean less than fifteen miles southwest. Bordan wasn’t picture postcard, but it was unique for one feature, the Siena bridge. The lofty stone bridge was small in its expanse across the Irrevess, but due to the height of the two struts of land in which it bridges, it towered abnormally high for its stone style and looked like a mistake in engineering for its time period. The burnt red stones, quarried locally, gave the bridge a crimson wash, like blood had dried deep into its pores. From certain viewpoints, the bridge looked surreal and out of place, giving Bordan the only interesting feature to its more than ordinary village-ness.

He stood on the road that sloped downward toward the bridge. Siena, one of the patron saints of nursing and care seemed ironic due to the notorious function of the bridge these days. The road was a minor road to traffic, so you could spend a very long time there without seeing any cars or farm transport. Though the village began the other side of the church, the houses were huddled and hidden, draped in swaths of weeping willows and honeysuckle, keeping themselves away from the eyes of others.

Making his own way down, he stepped onto the bridge, following the road which showed little transition. He hands trembled slightly, and he felt a chill in the air, whipped up from the drop below over the side. He was young, not even thirty. Yet he walked this route with the heavy heart of a man near death. And death was rampant in this spot.....


To lift into a dream.
A sky that fits into your hand.
Let loose like the heartstrings of a melody.
That taps at your soul.
You breathe the air I need to survive.
Blown backwards like a northwest gale.
Billowing underneath these feathered sails.
Crystalize the weight that hangs heavy like the edge of space.
Skimming the clouds of your floating world.
To dive into the air of thought that passes between us.
That leaves me shaking like a night terror.
A heartbeat like a sleep kick.
These strings are made with each joint decision.
Tasselled and tied the rigging of a wandering star.
Leaving my hands covered in stardust.
And lungs of love full to burst.
I go silently into that pastel sky.
Watching the moments as I go.
Lifting off deep into your soaring kingdom.
Lifting once more into a dream.

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Jasmine lips and honey eyes.
Dance on my flesh like miniature dragonflies.
Growing roses in my heart. 
The ivy of my mind to twist into.
Licking your skin and tasting the ocean.
Chasing your wave and finding sand in my shoe.
Blue and free like the sky that pulls over my eyelids.
Whispering into my skull, the tantric movement of tomorrow.
Taking me off to another land.
Where your skeleton slips into my skin each day.
And crystal tears carve a path right through me.
Amber shivers and slumbered eyes, welcoming these dreams.
Tiptoeing through the water lilies of your world. 
Hovering like the hummingbird of your heart.
Sweet nectar of hope and love.
Beat and hum.
Honey in the eyes of some.

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